


a true thing

by from



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Ice Cream, M/M, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 04:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8954473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/from/pseuds/from
Summary: NYC, December 2014. Nothing lasts, especially not a shared tub of cereal milk ice cream, but they’re Harry and Niall, and they'll move on with the new.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to [openhearts](http://archiveofourown.org/users/openhearts) and [brokendrums](http://archiveofourown.org/users/brokendrums/pseuds/brokendrums) for looking it over, and to the mods [butternutstyles](http://butternutstyles.tumblr.com/) and [wickershire](https://wickershire.tumblr.com/) for running this great fest.
> 
> This fic is a one-shot, but it can be read as a prequel to [i'll go by you](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5566603).
> 
> I'm also [fromward](https://fromward.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Happy holidays!

It’s the first day of winter, Niall’s astronomy apps race to tell him when his phone wakes up from the dead. Nothing he didn’t know. It’s December in New York. His nipples are still hard from the walk to the lift in the hotel garage and that was a half hour ago.

He’s flicking through the sports channels, thinking about a hot shower, when Basil pops his head round the door. “Do you need me for anything else tonight?”

The answer is usually a quick ‘no,’ but the tightness on Basil’s face makes him lower the remote and ask, “What’s going on?”

“Got to get Harry to his hotel.”

He sits up, getting himself into a jostle with the pillows. “What you mean?” he frowns, not catching one in time before it’s off the bed and on the floor.

Basil scratches his forehead with a finger, slowly, like he’s trying to neaten the worry lines. It’s something he does only when he’s being worn thin, Niall is starting to recognise. “He’s moving to the Four Seasons.”

Harry is taking a page out of Liam’s book, then, doing the romantic getaway thing with that new model of his.

“Why?” he asks anyway.

“I thought you’d know.”

Out there, Niall would be flushing, but in the bubble of The Band, some things just are, aren’t they, and Bas has been with them long enough now to be meaning no more than what he said. If Harry pays more attention to Niall than to anyone else, if Niall does the same, that’s just what they do. That’s who they are for each other.

But not always, not all the time. “What about that girl he’s seeing? Is she meeting him there?”

“I doubt it. He didn’t ask me to arrange anything.”

Niall puts on his trainers and goes to knock on Harry’s door.

He hasn’t seen much of him today – just at the brunch Sony threw for the team downstairs, when they were a bit hungover and tired from the SNL taping.

Everyone was in a good mood because it was one of the last work things on the calendar before the holidays. He remembers Liam and Sophia, over for the morning from their hotel, laughing about Harry still wanting that ice cream he’d been talking about all weekend when there was snow outside.

He thinks he’s remembering it right. Harry was chatty, not just casually working the room like he always does but actually having conversations with people.

“What’s going on?” he asks when Harry goes back to tossing his things into the maw of his leather holdall after opening the door.

“Can’t sleep.”

The ceiling lights are dancing on the dark of Harry’s back. Even under the jumper, Niall can see how lean he is from all the Pilates he’s doing lately. Most days, it takes the temper out of him too, but that’s clearly not the case tonight.

“Want company?” 

Harry glances over his shoulder and straightens, slipping a book into the bag. “You should stay here, Niall,” he finally says.

“So should you,” Niall argues even though he hadn’t thought to. His stomach always rolls when Harry’s eyes get flinty like that. “But you’re going.”

“I thought you don’t take sides,” Harry says, properly looking at him now.

Niall’s mind races through the possibilities but comes up empty. “What you talking about?”

“Nothing.”

He has no idea who Harry had another fight with. It couldn’t have been Liam, but he doesn’t understand how Louis or Zayn could’ve had the energy. Both of them left the SNL after party halfway through to go club hopping. They were in and out of the brunch so fast, Niall didn’t even get a chance to talk to either of them.

“Harry. Come on.”

“Forget about it, alright?” Harry says. Tired maybe. Or sad. “I just want to get some sleep.” Tired then.

They’re all flying out in the morning, two jets between them as it has been for most of the year, ever since the ridiculous fights in spring. It makes no sense to change hotels tonight. But if Harry goes without him, he’ll never get to the truth. He’ll not even have Harry near just in case there’s something still to be said and done.

“Get another room for me. I’ll move with you.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrow. “Why?”

“Why not?” Niall says, leaving to pack. “Never tried the Four Seasons here.”

It takes him less than five minutes to throw his things together and then he’s out the door again, his backpack and guitar with him, his suitcase left for someone to take to the airport tomorrow.

“Niall?” he hears someone say when he’s about to disappear round the corner. “Where are you going?” He wants to pretend he didn’t hear any of it, but he can’t.

He schools a smile into place and tracks back, stepping into Zayn’s doorway. “Just down the street.”

Zayn takes in his backpack and the guitar case. “Why?”

Niall has answers he can choose from. The problem is that he’s already taking the time to choose one.

“I’m—” They both turn their heads at the thudding.

It’s Harry dragging all his shit with him.

Niall can feel Zayn spreading against the doorway, and Niall’s got nowhere to go now except back out into the hall, even with Zayn’s hand now encircling his wrist.

Harry passes by them, tipping his head at Niall like he always does when they’re about to go onstage, but doesn’t say a thing to Zayn.

“When’s he gonna get over himself?”

Niall shrugs even though the question wasn’t really for him and he doesn’t want to get in the middle of their stupid grudge matches.

Zayn squeezes his wrist lightly. “Did he ask you to?”

“No.”

“All right then.” Zayn says. “If you know that then it’s all right,” he adds, clamping his hand over Niall’s shoulder and giving him a little shake before letting him go.

That’s the thing about Zayn and Harry, Niall thinks not for the first or last time as he makes for the waiting lift. They both read the weirdest shit and quote cryptic lines from it instead of saying what they actually want to say. It’s no fucking wonder they never sort out anything when they argue.

“Thought you’d changed your mind,” Harry says, not moving to give him room in the lift.

“Oh? Then why did you hold it open for me?” Niall shoves the guitar case at him and hits the button to get them going. “Jesus. Why even bother lying when you’re so shit at it?”

He hears Harry’s slow giggle and lets one out too. Idiot.

#

“Should we stop for ice cream?” Harry asks when they’re loading the car.

Never mind that it’s too many degrees below zero and Niall feels like his feet are encased in ice. “Room service,” he promises, wanting to make sure Harry’s lighter mood stays. “When we get there.”

“But the place I’m thinking of is on the way. Sort of.”

It’s not on the way because they’ve gone at least ten blocks in the wrong direction, but the car is warm and he hasn’t shared a ride with Harry for ages.

“What kind d’you want?” Harry asks, and Niall lets him lean in. “You can order ahead so it’s ready when you get there.”

He can see the menu on the screen Harry is showing him, but what’s sinking in is how well he knows the soft stink of old hairspray in Harry’s hair and the small sticky ringlets framing his face. “I don’t want ice cream.”

“Well, they sell cookies too,” Harry mumbles back. “Bas, do you want anything?”

“No, thank you.”

“What about you?” Harry turns to the driver. “Would you like an ice cream? Or a cookie?”

The driver shakes his head and Harry settles back again, half his shoulder over Niall’s as if there’s a third person with them in the backseat. “They’ve got six kinds of cookies. What do you think about getting one of each, Niall?” he glances up, his eyes gleaming in the light coming off the phone.

Niall shifts. “Yeah. Sure,” he agrees, and looks away. He’s used to it, the way his body just responds to the things Harry does sometimes, how his stomach rolls when Harry seems for a second like the only thing he can see. What he’s not used to is the urge to do something about all that.

Harry is still setting up the order when the car stops and Basil tells them they’ve arrived. “Well, that was a waste of time,” Harry says matter-of-factly, slipping the phone into his coat pocket.

Niall has no clue where they are, but he thought he recognised Union Square not five blocks ago, decked out for the holidays just like every year they’ve been in town for Christmas show tapings. He looks out the window at the small, warmly lit shop that might fit half a dozen people if they’re not all elbows. There’s a larger menu on the wall. He can’t read it from where the car has stopped, but that’s not what he’d like to do anyway. He wants to walk in and have a chat with the person behind the counter, ask questions and make his own choices.

But if Harry wants to go in to get his ice cream then Niall should stay in the car. It’s the protocol these days and this is Harry’s jaunt, not his. “Is this place any good?” he asks, worrying at a fingernail. “It’s empty.”

“It’s got good reviews,” Harry says, putting his beanie on and fixing the hair poking out of it. He’s only going for an ice cream run, Niall wants to remind him.

“You can buy those nowadays, can’t ya?” he says instead.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Niall. The cookies are massive. You can see them from here.”

“Yeah? So they’re big. So what?”

“No. You can see them from here and they look like they’ve been baked well.”

“Like they’ve been baked well.”

“I used to be a baker, Niall. I know these things.”

“You know, you’ve said that so many times, but—”

“Lads,” Basil opens his door, the icy wind blowing through to the back, “I think the shop’s empty because they’re closing in five minutes.”

Harry climbs over Niall out of the car even though his own side is perfectly fine for getting out from. Niall tries to tell him that but ends up with a mouthful of Harry’s jumper for his trouble.

“Fucking—” Niall stops himself, exhaling, and pulls the car door closed before his nuts fall off.

He sits in the idling car, his back toward the window, and runs down his feeds, likes a few posts on Instagram. When he checks in on the Oz group chat, he tells them it’s his last night in New York but doesn’t say a thing about what he’s up to. He and Harry might go their separate ways once they hit the hotel, but there’s the food to eat and maybe more time spent together alone. 

The cold blows in again when Harry and Bas get back, Harry with a takeaway bag and a pink-cheeked smile. “Got you one of everything,” he tells Niall.

The smells of sugar and softened butter, of chocolate and warm nuts, fill the backseat as Harry carefully places the bag on it and climbs in. It’s hard not to smile back even though Niall has to shove his hands into the pockets of his jacket to keep them warm. “Thank you,” he says, scooting over so the food can sit between them without Harry needing to keep his giraffe legs tucked tight.

Harry buckles his seat belt as the car starts moving and picks out a small paper bag. “Want one?”

“Nah. I’ll wait,” Niall tells him, even though it’s going to mean being awake half the night now. Harry will make him try every kind of cookie he bought and Niall can’t sleep on a full stomach. He’ll be up alone watching golf replays, probably, maybe with Harry snuffling into the sheets, smearing chocolate and sugar all over them.

“D’you mind if we have the ice cream?” Harry turns to the driver again.

“Harry,” Basil cautions as if they’ve already talked about it in the shop.

“It’s soft serve. It’s not gonna keep, is it?”

“It’s packed for delivery, Harry. It’s going to keep.”

“I think it’s already starting to melt. Cos it’s warm in the car.”

Niall shakes his head and jumps in to give Basil a break. “How do you think they deliver it to people?”

“In a car that’s not warm,” Harry replies.

“I just turned off the heat for you, Mr Styles,” is the only thing the driver says, but it shuts Harry up right quick.

Niall shoves his hands deeper into his pockets. “You really are something else, H,” he sighs.

#

“Bas can sort out your room,” Harry says when they’re getting out of the car, and then to Basil, “Can’t you, Bas?”

“Go on,” Basil tells Niall. “I’ll leave your gear in the room and drop off the key.”

Niall thanks him and goes into another lift with Harry, somehow carrying Harry’s holdall. “This ice cream better be fucking worth it is all I can say.”

“It is.”

“Oh, no. I’m gonna be the judge of it myself.”

“I knew you’d come round,” Harry says as the lift dings. “I mean, what’s better than getting under the covers when the heating’s on and eating ice cream?”

Niall shakes his head at that, but in the toasty hotel room, doing exactly what Harry told him to do, he’ll admit the idea wasn’t completely ridiculous.

“This is fucking delicious,” he says around his third mouthful of cereal milk ice cream. “Why haven’t we had this before? And maybe in the summer.”

“You don’t get to have the ice cream when you’re talking shit,” Harry tugs the container out of his hands and shovels more of it into his own mouth.

“That is brilliant, that,” Niall says, wiping his lips with his fingers and licking them. “Tastes exactly like what’s left at the bottom of the bowl.”

Harry makes noises of agreement, smiling wide, and the rolling in Niall’s stomach is here again. He wants to shift back, not sit so close on the bed, but there’s the ice cream.

“You gonna leave some for me or what?” he asks, watching Harry meticulously scooping out the last lumps of it.

“What,” Harry says, giggling.

“Come on.”

“I only got a double cone serving cos you said you didn’t want any!”

Niall chases the last heaping spoon to the bitter end, when it’s already inside Harry’s mouth and all Niall gets is a brush of Harry’s cold, wet lips and sticky plastic.

“God,” Harry gargles, shoving the container at him.

Niall laughs, heart beating wildly, and knocks it out of Harry’s hand.

Harry pulls the spoon out of his mouth. “Niall. You just kissed me.”

“No, I didn’t,” Niall denies. He knocks the spoon away too, not wanting it in his eye. “I didn’t.”

“You did!”

“Don’t flatter yourself, mate. I was going for the ice cream.”

Harry watches him for a moment. “You haven’t kissed me in ages,” he says quietly.

“When have I ever kissed you?” Niall laughs before he remembers all the kisses he’d drop on Harry’s cheeks, on his great big forehead. The times when Harry was struggling at work and looked like he needed some comforting, the times when Niall could tell he needed the sort of affection he’d get from his family and Louis had stopped giving it to him. The off hours during tour when they were mucking around and kissing Harry somewhere on his face seemed like just the thing to do. “On the mouth,” he finally adds.

“Wasn’t talking about on the mouth, was I?” Harry says, raising his eyebrows. “That was the first time.”

Niall is decisive when he says, “No, it wasn’t.” He stares at the foot of the bed, at Harry’s guitar case across the way, the one they picked in Austin after spending an afternoon at a music shop, rifling through old records. He knows there’s a tear on the inside pocket because he made it when he was taking off the factory tags for Harry, who smiled even though he’d just bought the case and said it was one less thing he had to do. Harry who likes his new things old and his old things at hand to mix with the new. 

“If that was me kissing you on the mouth, I’d start face to face. Put mine over yours. Move mine over yours so I can feel how soft it is, how much give I could get. I might nip you, surprise you a little so you’ll blow out a breath and I can feel it on me.” It’s funny how the words keep falling out of his mouth, but Harry is saying nothing, and Niall isn’t done. “That’d be the start of me tasting how your lips part, slowly. And how wet they are on the inside. Or if they’re dry cos you’re nervous maybe, or if that’s just how you run.”

“Niall.”

“I’m just telling you,” Niall shrugs. He should be terrified now because none of it sounded like a joke, but somehow he isn’t.

“What the fuck is in that ice cream?” Harry says.

Niall ignores him. He’ll probably freak out when he gets back to his own room so he should leave now and give himself time to calm down, maybe take something and get some sleep. “Alright, H. Story time over,” he says. “I’m gonna go to mine.”

“The fuck you are,” Harry exclaims, holding on to his arm. “Not after telling me all that.”

“What?” Niall asks. “Want a demonstration?” He’s joking now, of course. Harry is his best mate. Harry is work and music and tour. Harry is not for hooking up with.

“Yeah,” Harry says. His eyes are wide and hard, and Niall realises Harry does want it to not be a joke. “I want you to show me. Please.” 

Niall takes Harry’s hand off his arm but doesn’t let it go. “Why?”

“Why not?” Harry says, weaving their fingers together.

Niall doesn’t know whose fingers are the ones tacky with dried ice cream and cookie grease, but he has the urge to pull Harry closer and kiss his palm. Have Harry’s hand touch his face and neck. Touch him all over.

“We really gonna do this?” he asks.

“Yeah. If you—I want to. Do you?”

“Yeah,” Niall says, coming in, brushing his lips against Harry’s, the soft cupid’s bow and the fat swell of his bottom lip, Harry’s breath sweet and warm when he opens up to him.

Their noses brush and Niall tips his head, taking in the smell of Harry’s skin, a warm feeling spreading down his chest. Harry’s mouth is pliant, and it feels like he’s waiting, like he’s not kissing back because Niall hasn’t told him he could.

Niall pulls their hands up and lets go just enough to be able to kiss Harry’s palm. “Sticky,” he reports after. Harry lets out a breathy laugh and Niall turns back to him to say, just in case, “Now you kiss me.”

Harry pinks. “I want to,” he says, his voice rough, “but um, full disclosure. I’m getting hard.”

“Are ya?” Niall lets go of Harry’s hand to push his hair back behind his ears. Harry leans into his touch, eyelids fluttering. “Well, let’s see, yeah? If it can get hard it can get soft, can’t it?”

“Shut up,” Harry says, smiling. He leans back, drawing Niall down with him until they’re both sinking into the pillows. Niall helps him pull his jumper off, the smell of his cologne spread in between them before Niall gets a palmful of his warm body. Harry lifts his head to give Niall a slow kiss, his hand stroking Niall’s neck.

Niall moans under the pinpricks of Harry’s rings. “Shit,” he whispers into Harry’s mouth, wanting to get his own clothes off. “I like that. The way your hand feels on my skin. How your rings are dragging on it a bit. Makes me think it could be your teeth there, with the cornflake topping stuck in between.”

“I hate you,” Harry tells him. “And I’m not getting soft yet.”

“I don’t,” Niall giggles, feeling Harry help him work the zipper of his jeans, Harry’s thumb digging into Niall’s belly as he flicks the button undone. “I love me.”

“Yeah.” Harry tucks his hand under Niall’s boxer briefs and Niall’s eyes flutter shut at the feel of it, at the weight of him around his dick. “You should.” Harry kisses him again, his tongue flicking against Niall’s, moving in slow swipes along the underside of his lips, the sweetness of the ice cream tinged sour now, as if it’s not enough for this new need.

Niall shifts closer to kiss his shoulder, nose the skin that he has touched before, but never like this. They go on undressing each other, making a mess of the covers and the room.

“Have you like, ever done it with a guy before?” Harry asks as one of Niall’s spotty socks lands on the welcome fruit platter.

“’Course.”

“How was I meant to know?”

“You weren’t,” Niall says, and mouths Harry’s side, feeling him shiver. Niall gently turns him onto his front and gets above him.

“I haven’t, um, done a clean there,” Harry says, five steps ahead, his breaths coming a little faster.

Niall chuckles. “Alright. Good to know.” He runs his hands down Harry’s back, kisses his neck and moves slowly along his spine, the skin already a little sweat damp.

“The first time, it was just someone sucking my dick. It was over before I knew it,” Niall says, and kisses the elbow he finds in rucked up sheets halfway down Harry’s waist.

“Well,” Harry twitches, “now I know what I’m in for.”

“That was the first time, H.” Niall stretches to mouth at the freckle just above the lovehandles he hopes even years of Pilates will never get rid of. “I’m not gonna—”

“Do any of the work?”

“What d’you think I’m doing now, idiot?” Niall says, maybe a little too fondly.

Harry glances over his shoulder. “I don’t know, Niall,” he throws with a slight tremble in his voice. Maybe he’s holding in a laugh. Or getting as worked up as Niall is. “But if you eat my arse now, you’re not kissing me again.”

Niall chuckles, half wondering how the fuck they’ve ended up here and half thinking there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. “Well, that wouldn’t be such a good time, would it?” Then softly, he asks, “Can I just rub my dick between your cheeks for a bit? And then we can suck each other off, if you don’t mind that.” He runs his hand down the cleft of Harry’s arse, Harry’s soft plump skin and little moans drawing a shudder through him. “Wanna put my face between your legs,” he says when he gets himself together again.

“Yeah,” Harry says, twisting round on one elbow. “Me too.” His green eyes are glazed with want and Niall hopes these are good memories they’re making cos he knows he won’t ever forget them. “Yours, I mean. I wanna—God, just bring it over here.”

Niall half collapses next to Harry, grinning in the heat of him on the bed. A part of him can’t believe they’re really going to fuck, him and Harry, and he’s still not terrified yet. Another part of him feels like there have been years of things falling into place and this is him now, ready for it.

He feels Harry’s hands parting his legs and the sweetest touch of Harry’s mouth on his dick, Harry’s hair making rough little strokes on the insides of his thighs.

“Christ,” he exhales, pressing his hands into Harry’s thighs, coaxing them to part for his own mouth.

Niall breathes in the musk and wets Harry’s dick with his tongue, stroking it with one hand, his mind straining to keep up. He can’t help his moans, sucking Harry as best he can.

Harry has all of his dick in the tightness of his mouth, and he can feel Harry’s thighs starting to tremble under his hands, the hoarse sounds of his breathing reaching Niall like they’ve gone straight into the pit of his heart.

When Harry’s hand starts to roam along the sides of his stomach, his fingers clenching and unclenching, Niall comes without being able to warn him, his mouth working and working thoughtlessly through it. Until it doesn’t have to because Harry is coming too, with a strange stream of apologies that Niall shushes with a hand gripping his. Because wherever Harry is, Niall’s got him.

Niall buries his face in the bed for a minute after, wanting to get his head round things. But Harry thumps his leg and pulls him up before he’s had a chance to even feel where his head is.

After Harry cleans them both with his jumper, a soft smile on his face, Niall thinks of how long he should stay and if there’s a way to leave with everything all right between them. “Was that just cos we’re lonely?” he finally asks, remembering Harry’s new model who isn’t here tonight.

“So what if it was?” Harry kisses Niall’s shoulder, lingering to snuffle before laying his head back down on the pillow. “We had a good time, didn’t we?”

Niall shuffles deeper into the sheets. He knows he’s meant to leave soon, but there is one thing he did come for, before the ice cream, before the fucking. “Why are we here, Haz?”

“Oh god.” Harry stretches, a sheen to his loose limbs. He’s fucking beautiful, Niall thinks, and desperately wants to not regret what they just did. “Was expecting you to be the type to just roll over and start snoring away,” Harry says with a sharper, cheekier smile, “not get philosophical.”

“Fuck off,” Niall says softly, avoiding his eyes. “I meant, why did you wanna switch hotels?”

Harry shrugs and after a good minute, lets out a long, wet breath. “Don’t you think it’s weird, like. It used to be nice, having everyone just a couple of doors down. Even if you didn’t see them for the rest of the night.”

“Are we talking about anyone in particular?”

“Stop it, Niall. You don’t want to talk about it. Not really,” he says.

Niall wants to deny it, but Harry isn’t wrong. It’s always too complicated. He’s never there when it happens, doesn’t get to take in the specifics first hand, doesn’t feel like he can talk about it with anyone after and have all the facts at his disposal.

“How do you people get into arguments without me noticing?”

“Maybe cos you don’t want to notice.”

“Christ, Harry, this is why they—”

“Alright, Niall. Fuck,” Harry snaps. “I don’t wanna do this with you too. Especially not right now.” He thumps his pillow before flopping over to stare at the ceiling. “God, it just keeps getting worse, doesn’t it? By the time we get to the last album and tour it, none of us will be talking to each other.”

“Settle down. Still got a long way to go.”

“That’s what I mean!”

“You don’t know what’s gonna happen tomorrow,” Niall says. “Next month, next tour,” he adds, before Harry can smartarse his way to winning the argument again.

“Just do the fucking job,” Harry says, and Niall knows that’s Harry quoting himself going off at Louis and Zayn but Niall has heard it said to Harry too. They’ve probably all said it to one another at least once at this point. 

Maybe next year it’ll be him and Harry who don’t see eye to eye anymore, who can’t stand to even be in the same room together, let alone lie like this, side by side, Harry’s shoulder against his, close enough for kissing.

He breathes out the tightness in his chest, counts to three before he asks, as calmly as he can, “You still gonna talk to me at least?”

Harry turns his head so they’re looking at each other and a smile breaks across his face. “I promised, didn’t I?” It’s one of his stupid self-satisfied smiles and Niall braces for it. “We’re gonna make it, Niall.”

“Argh,” Niall scoots away but Harry hooks a leg over his and the scooting fails. “Shut up.”

“We can make it 'til the end,” he enunciates as Niall looks for another way to get out of his bed.

“Idiot,” Niall throws at him, scrabbling to get free.

“The sex should help,” Harry says, grabbing his waist.

Niall laughs. Because. Christ. They just fucked, didn’t they, and he doesn’t know how he feels about that. “Christ, Harry,” he says, managing to sit up, even if it’s over Harry’s lap.

Harry traces loops across his stomach and Niall doesn’t know where to put his hands except on his own thighs, through his own hair. “I had a nice time,” Harry mumbles. “Um. Like, if it’s a one-time thing, I’m cool with that. But.” He stops his tracing and looks up at Niall. “You know,” he clears his throat, “I’m around. You have my number.”

There must be dozens of people who’ve sat where Niall is sitting right now, hoping to hear those words, but the sheer ridiculousness of it all is only making his head feel funny. “I’m embarrassed for you,” Niall finally says, chuckling. “People are always saying that. Second-hand embarrassment. Now I know. Christ.” He pulls at his hair. “It’s worse than I thought it would be.”

Something flashes across Harry’s eyes. Hurt, maybe. “I’m just saying, Niall, like—”

“You have my number too,” Niall tells him, quickly, for both their sakes.

Harry stops explaining himself and laughs, rubbing his eyes with closed fists. “Yeah. All right. It was a stupid thing to say.”

Niall strokes the still empty spaces between the moth and the laurels on Harry’s stomach, the goose pimples under his fingertips feeling like he’s known them for years.

“But a true thing.”

“A true thing,” Harry echoes, resting his hands on Niall’s hips, thrusting up softly, and Niall nods back at him.

#

Niall makes the effort to claw back some sleep on the way to the airport even though the stop-and-go traffic keeps jerking him awake. There’s no knowing what the rest of the day is going to be like.

The first person he sees at the private terminal is Louis, hunched over in the cold, probably on the phone to one of his sisters. Louis ends the call to tell him about having spent the night working on a song with Zayn. “I don’t know, Niall,” he says, sounding excited despite himself. “Could be something.”

Niall nods encouragingly, hoping all they’ll talk about is work, hoping Zayn hasn’t said a thing about him and Harry going to another hotel.

The sliding doors rattle open and Zayn shuffles through, giving him a hug before offering Louis a smoke.

“… I’ll play it for you on the plane,” Louis says, taking the cig.

Niall busies himself with finding his passport before telling them, “I’m going with Harry.”

“Oh come on. Let Liam and Sophia babysit this time.” Louis’ eyes are glinting. Zayn must’ve told him about the move last night.

“No,” Niall shakes his head. “Show me now.”

Niall steels himself when Louis raises his eyebrows, but Zayn flicks his lighter on, offering it up to the cig dangling off Louis’ lips and Louis stops to puff. “Play it for him now, Lou,” Zayn says. “I’m already bored as fuck and we’re not leaving for another half hour.”

“Fine.” Louis takes his phone out again and looks for the audio file. “What Harry wants Harry gets.”

Zayn passes Niall the headphones from around his neck with a small exasperated smile and holds on to the other end, carefully winding it under Louis’ hand to plug it into the socket.

“How about what I want, I get?” Niall replies, putting on the headphones. He didn’t get the last of the cereal milk ice cream, but he’s going home with all the other new things that came after, and the smell of Harry’s hair on his t-shirt still.

“Then maybe you two shitheads belong together,” Louis says with a smirk, sounding far away.

“Oi.”

“What oi?”

“Don’t be a dick oi,” Zayn explains, lighting a cig.

“I was just telling Niall that maybe he and Harry belong together.”

“That’s all right by me,” Niall says, something small and bright uncurling inside. Later, he’ll watch Harry snoring above the Atlantic and wonder. Really wonder. But right now he’s busy moving them past things they can’t do anything about. He knocks Louis into a shivering Zayn and asks, “How about you two shitheads, are you gonna play me your song or what?”

~


End file.
